


The Doctor and the Bartender

by tangowhiskey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Mpreg, Possessive Behavior, Same-Sex Marriage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 14:05:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/623002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tangowhiskey/pseuds/tangowhiskey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance encounter between Dr. Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester changes both of their lives forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Castiel jolts awake with a grunt. Blearily looking at the clock in the car, he finds it’s 9pm. He groans.

“Evening, Chief.” the driver says in response.

Gazing out of the window, Castiel replies, “I told you not to call me that, Inias.” His voice is void of anger, though. He’s just tied. And sore. Needing to drive cross country - literally - in the space of 48 hours will do that to a person. And falling asleep in a cramped car with only your Teaching Assistant for company is not Castiel Novak’s idea of fun. But he couldn’t say ‘no’ to his bosses, so here they are, on the way from New York to San Francisco.

“Sorry, doc,” Inias responds, “Look on the bright side though, we’re over half way there. Only another twenty hours and we’ll be on the West Coast.”

Cas groans again. “You’re not helping, Inias. And don’t call me ‘doc’ either, it reminds me of Bugs Bunny.” He then adds as an afterthought, “I never really got that show.”

Inias snorts. “Really? I loved it as a kid,” he reminisces.

“I’m shocked,” Castiel replies sarcastically under his breath, but if Inias hears him, he doesn’t respond. “Where are we any way?” he asks after a minute.

“On the last stretch of Nebraska, we’ll be in Wyoming soon.”

Castiel groans for the third time in as many minutes.

There’s a lull in conversation for a few more miles until Inias spots a sign for a bar.

“I’m gonna pull in ahead, I could do with a break and I really need to pee.”

Inias pulls up outside the bar called Harvelle’s Roadhouse. Castiel emerges from the car finding that the lights on the sign hurt his eyes, but he’s grateful for the break and a chance to stretch his legs nevertheless. He decides that if he’s to survive another twenty-hour trip, he may as well have a drink or two: not that he’s a big drinker; in fact he’s been told by his brother Gabriel on more than one occasion that he’s the biggest lightweight in the family. However, the thought of that cramped car would drive anyone to drink. 

He enters the bar whilst Inias stretches. Looking around, he’d describe it as shabby, a little rough round the edges maybe, but nevertheless it’s homely and Castiel can clearly see that the owners have put in an effort to make it welcoming to outsiders, which he realises he very much is. The bar is dimly lit and well patroned by men dressed in leather, and women that Castiel knows could kill him twenty ways before he’d hit the ground. The way they’re looking at him - like a piece of meat - is unnerving to say the least. And there are guns. Lots and lots of guns. He approaches the bar, joining the queue, and sees a harrassed looking woman with blond hair trying to keep up with the orders.

The woman looks over her shoulder towards the back room and calls out, “I hate to interrupt your beauty sleep, but some help’d be good. Y’know, whenever you feel like it, of course.”

“Sleep? Around here?! Chance’d be a fine thing,” replies a deep, slightly accented voice, still hidden from view in the back room.

Castiel smiles to himself.

The woman yells through gritted teeth, “Now, please, Dean!”

“Yeah, yeah, cool your jets, sister,” the man - Dean, did she say? - behind the voice emerges, “I was changing the barrel, I didn’t see you offering to do it.” Castiel feels that he’s frozen to the spot: Dean is the most handsome man that Castiel has ever laid eyes on; he finds himself unable to look away. Slightly taller than himself, with ashy-blonde hair and golden flecks in his green eyes, Castiel would describe him as pretty. And he’s never used that word to describe a man before.

He saunters over to the bar and begins to help the woman serving. Castiel thinks its more to annoy her than to demonstrate cockiness, but nevertheless he is clearly self-confident. And that just adds to his appeal. Castiel finds that he doesn’t mind having to wait for his order if he gets to look at Dean serving. He’s wearing a tight-fitting black t-shirt that doesn’t leave much to the imagination. He imagines that shirt on the floor of his bedroom and ...

“- mate?”

Castiel zones back in to find that Dean is looking at him. He tries to speak but finds his mouth dry from his earlier salivating. He wets his lips and tries again. “Sorry?”

Dean smiles, his voice amused. “I said, ‘What can I get you, mate?’”

“Oh. I - um...” he trails off, blushing like a schoolgirl.

“Actually, don’t tell me. Let me guess. I’m pretty good at this,” he flashes a grin, “You’re not the usual crowd we get in here. You’re more... sophisticated, I s’pose. How about... scotch on the rocks with a twist?”

Castiel thinks that Dean is flirting with him, but decides it’s probably more part of his nature, the friendly bartender and all. A shame, he thinks. He then realises that Dean is still waiting for an answer. “Uh, yeah. That sounds good. Thanks.” Although, truth be told, he’s never had it before in his life.

That earns him another grin from Dean. “My pleasure.”

He returns with the drink and looks expectantly at Castiel. He takes a hesitant sip and finds that it is, perhaps, the best thing he has ever tasted. And he says so to Dean.

Dean smiles and it almost looks like relief, as if he’d been waiting for Castiel to complement him. “Told you I was good, didn’t I?” And with that, Dean goes back to helping serve the other customers, while Castiel takes a seat at a booth.

Slowly but surely over the next half-an-hour the bar empties and Castiel finds that he’s still stealing furtive glances over at Dean. He sees him and the woman bartender deep in conversation behind the bar. He is instantly jealous, thinking that she is, in absolutely no way, good enough for Dean. And that’s an interesting thought, for Castiel has never had such feelings for someone he’s only met a little while ago. Wishing he could hear what they are saying, he now regrets not learning to read lips as a child. Finding his drink empty, he returns to the bar. As he does so, the woman slaps Dean on the ass as he approaches to serve Castiel.

“Back for more?” Dean smirks, with a rise of his eyebrow.

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” Castiel replies nervously.

Dean returns with the refill. “So, c’mon, what’s someone like you doing in a place like this?”

Castiel laughs. “And how would you describe ‘someone like me’?”

Dean takes a moment to respond; Perhaps not wanting to offend me, Cas thinks. “I dunno,” Dean says, “You’re sophisticated, as I said; I’m guessing you’re highly educated, and you’re certainly not like the hunters and bikers we normally get in here.”

And Castiel doesn’t know why, but he feels like he could easily spill his soul to Dean. But instead he gives him the abridged version. “Well, you’re right,” Castiel says with a laugh, “I’m certainly not a biker. No, I’m a lecturer in English at Columbia, specialising in early religious texts. Although this morning I was informed that for the next twelve weeks I’m on secondment to UC Berkeley, because my colleague, who was meant to be going, had to go to hospital for an emergency something or other... which is why I’m here. Inias and I are driving across the country to start our new, albeit temporary, lives on the West Coast,” Castiel realises that as a result of the combination of lack of sleep and Dean’s amazing drink-making abilities, that he’s ever so slightly drunk.

“Inias?” Dean asks and Castiel could swear there’s a hint of anger there. No, not anger. Jealousy. Probably. Maybe. Probably not.

“My teaching assistant,” he answers, and if he were sober he’d be able to see Dean’s face relax. “Actually, speaking of, where is he?”

Castiel scans the bar but finds, unsurprisingly, that Inias is very much not in the building. “Shit,” he mutters. He stands up from the stool and makes his way to the exit, swaying slightly.  “Hang on,” Dean says and rushes to the other side of the bar, holding on to Castiel’s arm with a pressure and warmth that heads immediately down towards a certain part of Castiel’s anatomy. “Sit down, I’ll check on him for you.”

Castiel grins toothily at Dean. “Thanks, it’s the black people-carrier out front,” as he points towards unnecessarily towards the door, which makes Dean smile.

When Dean returns, he finds Castiel still standing, looking at the decorations that adorn the walls of the Roadhouse. “He’s fine,” Dean tells him, “He’s fast asleep in the back seat.”

Castiel just laughs tipsily.

“I think I’ll make you a coffee,” Dean tells him.

Five minutes later and Castiel finds himself finishing the very strong coffee that Dean has made him and is sitting opposite him in a booth.

“Just so you know, I don’t make a habit of making coffee for people when I don’t even know their name,” says Dean.

Definitely a flirt, Castiel thinks. He smiles and extends his hand, “I’m Castiel.”

“Bless you,” says Dean, shaking his hand.

Castiel laughs.

“That’s an unusual name.”

“I come from an unusual family.”

 “I know what you mean,” Dean can definitely relate to the man sitting across from him.

“So, come on then, I’ve given you my life story, what’s yours?” Castiel says.

Dean visibly tenses. “There’s not much to tell, really. Born and raised in Lawrence, Kansas, I’ve worked here ever since I was twenty-one. The Harvelles are friends of the family and saw that I needed the work, so... here I am.”   

Castiel looks at him expectantly. “That it?”  

“I’ve a younger brother, Sam, who’s just graduated as a lawyer; he’s working for a firm in San Francisco, funnily enough, until he can gain enough experience to establish himself; so I haven’t seen him in a while. He seems happy enough, though. He’s getting married soon, he’s been with his girlfriend since they were in high school.” Dean smiles proudly.

“And what about you and... um, thingy?” he gestures over to the woman bartender.

Dean laughs. “What Jo?! Oh, God, no. She’s more like a sister to me. Besides, she’s definitely not my type.”

Dean leaves it suitably ambiguous as to what he means by that and Castiel doesn’t think it’s his place to push any further.

“So, moving across the country,” Dean begins, “that must suck.”

“Not half as much as the journey over,” says Castiel, “If Inias weren’t coming with me, I’d be there already.”

“How do you mean?” asks Dean.

“He’s afraid of flying,” Castiel laughs.

“Hey!” says Dean, slightly indignant, “There’s nothing wrong with being afraid of flying. Big metal tubes kept aloft in the air. It’s not natural.”

Castiel laughs harder at that, “Not you too?”

“Afraid so. Besides,” Dean adds as an afterthought, “think of it this way, if Inias weren’t afraid of flying, you’d never have met me. So, really, it’s fortunate for you that he is.”

Castiel smiles. And he realises that he hasn’t laughed or smiled so much in one evening in... well, ever, if he’s honest with himself.

Castiel looks at the clock on the wall and sees that if they’re to make San Francisco on time then he has to leave. “I’d better be on my way,” Castiel says reluctantly.

“Oh. Yeah. Right. Of course.” There is very definitely disappointment in Dean’s voice.

And Castiel just decides to go for it. “Listen,” he says, “this is going to sound weird, but, uh, if you visit your brother in San Francisco in the next three months, and you feel like meeting up...” And he loses his nerve, inwardly cringing, “Actually, never mind. Forget I said anything.”

  “No, wait,” Dean says, halting Castiel, “I’d like that.”

Cas blushes, “Well, here’s my number,” and he hands Dean his card. “So, I might hear from you soon...”

“Yeah,” Dean replies, “Yeah, I think you will.”

“Goodbye, Dean.”

“Bye, Cas.”

As Cas leaves the Roadhouse, he reflects on his new nickname. Cas. He’s never been called that before, not tolerating anyone giving him a nickname. Except for Gabriel and Balthazar (both of whom had called him Cassie, which he’d hated with a passion). But they are his brothers, this is... different. Castiel decides that he very much likes being called Cas. And he very much likes the man who has given him that name.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean locks up the _Roadhouse_ for the night as soon as Cas leaves. He’s so preoccupied with thinking about the strange yet intriguing man that he doesn’t hear Jo sneak up behind him. She slaps him - once again - quite firmly on the ass.

“Ow!” he exclaims in a rather unmanly yelp, which he’d deny emitting until his dying day, “Would you _please_  stop doing that?”  

Jo chuckles. “Nope, sorry Dean-o. Well?” 

“Well, what?” Dean asked non-plussed. 

She tuts at him. “How did it go? Y’know, with trench-coat guy?” 

“Oh,” says Dean reservedly, “Yeah, fine.” 

She looks at him expectantly. “I know you’re a man of few words, Dean Winchester, and we all love you for it, but seriously, ‘fine’ isn’t going to cut it. So spill.” 

“He’s... he’s really... nice,” he ends lamely. 

“Nice? _Nice_?! I’m gonna need more than _nice_.”  
  
“What do you expect?” Dean asks, “I only spoke to him for a few minutes.” 

She snorts.

“What?” Dean asks confused. 

“You were talking to him for nearly an hour,” she says as if speaking to a child.

“No, I wasn’t,” he retorts. 

“ _Yes_ , you were,” she bites back. 

Dean looks at her as if expecting her to say, _Psyche_. But she doesn’t. 

“Really?” he asks. 

She nods. “Sooo, you know what they say, ‘Time flies when you’re having fun’. Oooh,” she adds conspiratorially, “Does this mean he’s the one? Do you love him? Do you want to marry him?” 

Dean scowls at her while she snickers. “Very funny, Harvelle.” 

“You like him though.” A question, not a statement.

“Maybe,” he replies coyly. 

“You _so_ do,” she comments before beginning to sing, “Dean and - ... Wait, what’s his name?” 

Dean sighs irritably, “Cas. Castiel.” 

She smirks wickedly, “Dean and Cas sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g, first comes love, then comes marriage -”. She ends abruptly when Dean throws the dirty towel that he’s using to wipe the counter  with in her face. 

“Serves you right, Joanna Beth,” Ellen says as she enters the bar from the back room. 

Dean and Jo freeze before turning to her in unison. Dean blushes furiously. 

“Mother! What are you doing back so soon? And don’t you know that it’s rude to eavesdrop on private conversations,” Jo scolds, before adding, “How much did you hear by the way?”

“Enough,” she says ambiguously. 

“Listen, Ellen - ” Dean begins. 

Ellen just holds her hand up to stop him, “Dean, I like to think that I’m the soul of discretion. I work in a bar; it’s part of the job. The things I hear in this place go in one ear and out the other.” 

A small smile appears on Dean’s face. “Thanks.” 

**** 

Dean restrains himself from calling Sam straight away to tell him that he wants to visit him and Jess  (and a certain intellectual in a trench coat at the same time, if he’s honest with himself). He decides that a month is the appropriate amount of time to wait, reasoning that he doesn’t want to appear too eager to Cas, as well as wanting to give him time to settle in to his new life. He ignores Jo whenever she says, _That doesn’t even make sense; you’d be calling Sam, not Cas_. Dean has never experienced time moving so slowly in his life; not even as a young boy in the run-up to Christmas, just itching to open the presents under the tree.  

When the time finally arrives - and even though he’s been steeling himself for the past four weeks - his hands still shake when he dials his brother’s number. It’s been a long time since the Winchesters have spoken; certainly longer than Dean would’ve liked. 

“Hello?” Sam answers. 

“Hey, uh, Sammy, it’s me.” 

There’s an awkward pause, before he says, “Hey, Dean. What’s up?” He then asks wearily, “It’s not Dad again, is it?”  
  
“What? No. No, it’s not Dad. I... um... Well, we’ve been working out the rota for the next month and I have a couple of weeks off and... I was wondering whether I could come out and visit you and Jess. Y’know, if it suits, of course?” 

“Seriously? Dude, yeah, that’d be great. It’d be good to see you.” He then asks, “How is Dad anyway?” 

“Yeah, he’s uh... doing okay; well as okay as he can be, I s’pose. You know how he is... He’d like to see you, Sammy.”

Sam sighs into the phone. “Don’t, Dean. You know he and I only clash whenever we see each other. And I just... I just don’t have the energy to deal with that anymore.”

“Sammy, he’s not a well man.”

Sam lets out a growl. “Stop defending him, Dean! If he’s not well, then it’s his own fault. You can’t expect me to feel sorry for him, and he really doesn’t deserve your unequivocal devotion.” 

“Sammy -” 

“No, Dean! You’re my brother and I love you, but I have my own life now, and it’s one that doesn’t include Dad. And if you’ve any sense, you’ll do the same.”

“And what about Mom?” Dean asks heatedly.  

“She’s made her own bed, Dean, now she has to lie in it.” 

“It’s not as simple as that, Sammy!” Dean says exasperatedly, “I can’t - and I won’t - just leave her to deal with him on her own.” 

“Like I did you mean?” Sam answers sharply. 

“That’s not...” Dean sighs, “That... that came out wrong.” 

Sam lets out a breath. Then he starts laughing. 

“Why are you laughing?” Dean asks, confused. 

“Have you ever noticed that whenever we mention Dad that we always end up fighting?” 

Dean smiles. “Yeah, it’s a recurring theme, alright.” 

Dean can hear someone in the background and a second later Sam says, “Dean, listen, I’ve gotta go. Just let me know for definite when you’re coming over and I’ll set up the guest bedroom. It’ll be good to see you Dean; I mean it.”

“Yeah, it will. See ya, Sammy.” 

Dean hangs up and contemplates calling Cas now that he has firm plans to visit Sam, but he stops himself from doing so. _Coward_ , says the voice in his head, but he shakes it off, even though he knows its true. 

**** 

Dean has never been good at packing. Although he does actually have a valid reason for that; his whole life has been split between Nebraska (where he lives and works four days a week at the _Roadhouse_ ) and Kansas (where he spends the other three helping to look after his father). Even when the boys were growing up, holidays were never something that occurred in the Winchester home. Well, that’s not strictly true, although Dean doesn’t think that a week’s trip to Bobby’s in South Dakota strictly counts as escaping from family life. 

And so, given his lack of experience in packing, he now finds himself wondering how many shirts he should bring with him, and, even worse, whether they should be casual or formal, or maybe a mix of the two. And then he starts to wonder if he actually _owns_ any formal shirts: he decides he doesn’t, and so resolves to by one before he meets Cas again, wanting to make a good impression on him. Jeans, he finds, are simpler. They can be used for practically any occasion. But, then again, he thinks that Cas is probably the type of person born with a silver spoon in his mouth that would faint at someone wearing a pair of jeans on a date. That’s _if_ they are actually going to be dating in the first place. Dean sighs in frustration. Packing is difficult. 

**** 

Dean eventually arrives in San Francisco nearly six weeks after his meeting with Cas. And as he drives, he realises that it’s _different_ here. He’s no fool; he knew it would be, but he’s shocked by just how much. He is used to Hicksville, USA; with narrow-minded people and their ignorant, intolerant and backward ways. Here though? It’s more... open, it’s freer, and just all round more relaxed. 

Dean follows the directions that Sam texted him and whistles when he arrives at the apartment complex. _Nice one, Sammy_ , he thinks. He’s glad that at least one Winchester made it big in this world. He texts his brother to let him know that he’s arrived and Sam buzzes him in. As he stands at the apartment door, he hesitates. _Just breath_ , he thinks, and knocks three times in quick succession, just like the secret code the two had devised for the treehouse they had growing up. 

The door opens with Sam standing there looking as nervous as Dean feels. 

“Hey, Dean.” 

Dean has forgotten just how quite tall Sam is and needs to crane his neck slightly upwards. “Hey, Sasquatch.” 

Sam laughs. Then Dean laughs. And with that the ice is broken and it’s as if the brothers have never been separated. 

“You just gonna stand there, or are you gonna invite me in?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Sam laughs at his forgetfulness, stepping aside with a, “Sorry, come in”. 

Dean takes in the surroundings. The apartment is clearly new: a bit too white for Dean’s tastes, but it’s spacious, with a balcony with a beautiful view of the bay. Dean notes how clean it is and knows that that’s down to Sam rather than Jess. When they were younger, he had suspected on more than one occasion that Sam had OCD, but Sam just laughed him off and said it was just good sense. 

“Wow, this is...” Dean trails off; he probably doesn’t even have the right words in his vocabulary. 

“Yeah, it’s not too bad, I s’pose.” 

_Not too bad?_ Dean can’t help but compare his brother’s place to his own bedsit near the _Roadhouse_.  There’s a world of difference between the two; much like the two brothers themselves, Dean muses. 

Sam shows Dean to the guest room and whilst he unpacks, he begins to thinks about just how fortunate his brother has been. And he wonders whether, in a parallel world, it would be _him_ with the good job, loving partner, and nice pad. Dean isn’t - and never has been - jealous of Sam, but he  sincerely hopes that his brother isn’t taking everything he has for granted.

Back in the kitchen, Dean sees just how much Sam has changed since he last saw him. He seems to have grown taller, he’s more tanned, his hair is longer and his taste in clothing has certainly improved. Living away from their parents had certainly suited Sam. 

“Dinner’ll be ready in ten; hope you’re hungry.” Sam says. _And apparently he can cook now too._

“I’m always hungry, Sammy, you know me,” he takes a moment and finds that someone is missing, “Hey, where’s Jess?”

“Oh,” Sam says blushing slightly, “she said she has some work to catch up on. I think it was her not-too-subtle way of saying that we need to... uh, talk, I guess.” 

“Talk?” Dean questions, “Talk about what?” 

Sam says uncomfortably, “Talk. You know, catch up or whatever.” 

“And since when do the Winchesters ever talk about _anything_?” Dean questions. 

Sam holds up his hands in a _Don’t-shoot-the-messenger_ kind of way. “I know, I know. I told her the same thing; she says that’s part of the problem. Anyway, you know Jess, there’s no arguing against her.” 

“And you call yourself a lawyer,” Dean grins. 

**** 

Dinner is surprisingly not that awkward. Dean thinks that Sam’s made too much salad for anyone’s own good, but apart from that, he has to admit that it’s nice to eat a home-cooked meal for once. Dean’s diet consists of TV dinners and greasy take-outs. Even when he’s in Kansas, his mother is too tired from working her two jobs to cook anything for him (not that he’s complaining, he knows from experience just how exhausting it is working two jobs), and he’s just never had the time to practice, preferring instead to work all the hours he can. 

Dean looks over to his brother, sighs and says, “Oh, just spit it out.” 

Sam looks likes a deer caught in the headlights. “What?” 

“Sammy, you’ve clearly been itching to ask something since we’ve sat down, so just get it over with.” 

Sam fidgets in his seat and Dean can see his brain working overtime trying to find the right way to say whatever he wants to say without offending his brother. “It’s just... I was wondering... You know... It’s...” 

“Sammy!” Dean barks. 

“Why now?” Sam blurts out. 

“What?” 

“I mean, why are you visiting us _now_? Jess and I have been living out here for months with no word from you and I just...” 

And it’s in that moment that Dean realises that Sam - _Sam_ , with his money and his job, his nice apartment and gorgeous girlfriend - has been _lonely_ out here. Even with everything he has, he’s missed his brother.

“We used to do everything together, Dean; we were so close, and then one day...” he trails off, ducking his head in embarrassment. 

Dean clears his throat awkwardly. He doesn’t do emotions. “Geez, Sammy,” he begins. He sighs, “Sam, I’m... You’re right. I should never have let that happen. It’s just that I was caught up with work, and you were busy with school and getting ready for university. I guess we were just doing different things. I’m sorry, I should have put in more effort and come over sooner. But, hey, I’m here now, so...”

Sam smiles. “Yeah, I guess.” 

“Good... so, can we stop being women now?” 

**** 

Dean spends a couple of days getting reacquainted with his brother and Jess, and doing the tourist-y stuff that they insist on. On the first morning that Dean finds himself in the apartment alone - after Sam apologised profusely for being called into work unexpectedly - he decides that it’s time to  bite the bullet and call Cas. That is, after spending an hour staring at the card that he had given to him. The voice in his head is back, _Just grow some balls and dial the damn number!_ Dean decides that he’s ignored the voice for long enough, and complies. 

“Hello, Castiel Novak speaking. How can I help you?” comes a tired voice. 

“Um... hi, Cas.” Dean winces: he’s never been good in awkward situations, “It’s... uh... Dean - Dean Winchester - from _Harvelle’s Roadhouse_. Er - you probably don’t remember me -” 

“Of course I remember you. Hello, Dean.” Dean stomach flutters a little at the way Cas’s voice perks up. 

After a moments silence, Cas continues, “So what can I do you for, Dean?” 

“Oh, um... Well, you said to call you when I was in San Francisco, and here I am, so I was wondering if you’d... I mean...” 

Dean is almost sure he can hear Cas’s smile through the phone. “Are you asking me out on a date, Dean?”

“I’m trying too, yeah,” Dean chuckles. 

Cas laughs too, “Well, you’re not doing a very good job.” 

Disappointment begins to settle over Dean. “So, is that a ‘no’ then?” 

Cas laughs once again. “No, Dean, it’s very much a ‘yes’.” 

And if Dean had a smile on his face for the rest of the day, well, so be it.


End file.
